Page 118 - moby-dick

kitchen door, I uttered the word ‘cod’ with great emphasis,
and resumed my seat. In a few moments the savoury steam
came forth again, but with a different flavor, and in good
time a fine cod-chowder was placed before us.
We resumed business; and while plying our spoons in
the bowl, thinks I to myself, I wonder now if this here has
any effect on the head? What’s that stultifying saying about
chowder-headed people? ‘But look, Queequeg, ain’t that a
live eel in your bowl? Where’s your harpoon?’
Fishiest of all fishy places was the Try Pots, which well
deserved its name; for the pots there were always boiling
chowders. Chowder for breakfast, and chowder for dinner,
and chowder for supper, till you began to look for fish-bones
coming through your clothes. The area before the house
was paved with clam-shells. Mrs. Hussey wore a polished
necklace of codfish vertebra; and Hosea Hussey had his ac-
count books bound in superior old shark-skin. There was a
fishy flavor to the milk, too, which I could not at all account
for, till one morning happening to take a stroll along the
beach among some fishermen’s boats, I saw Hosea’s brin-
dled cow feeding on fish remnants, and marching along
the sand with each foot in a cod’s decapitated head, looking
very slip-shod, I assure ye.
Supper concluded, we received a lamp, and directions
from Mrs. Hussey concerning the nearest way to bed; but,
as Queequeg was about to precede me up the stairs, the lady
reached forth her arm, and demanded his harpoon; she al-
lowed no harpoon in her chambers. ‘Why not? said I; ‘every
true whaleman sleeps with his harpoon—but why not?’

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